


Fragments

by JadeLavellan (Jadestone)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 14:46:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadestone/pseuds/JadeLavellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Elves have lost almost all of their ancient culture. They cling to what fragments remain, teaching themselves a language they can never hope to completely recover. Elvish is already a dialect based largely on the intent of the words spoken—and it is doubly so now that there are so few words to chose from.<br/>This is a super short exploration of some of the different ways Lavellan attempts to express what she feels with so limited a palate, when her emotions are too important for the common tongue (as opposed to Solas, who has mastery of the language but knows no one else is left who might understand him).</p><p>Some fluff + some pain + I guess technically there is sex, but it's not really... explicit sex.</p><p>Translations for Elvish phrases in the end notes, although most of it is fairly straightforward/from the game.</p><p>This is the second attempt I've ever made at fanfic so criticism is very welcome but please be gentle with me ;_;</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragments

“ _Ar lath ma, vhenan_.” It is the first time he has said it, and Lavellan is still breathless from their kiss as he draws back. His fingers pressing into the small of her back were a thousand times more dizzying than the crumbling flagstones four stories below; her lips tingling from his sudden unrestrained passion. It was like the first kiss: beginning with heat, and only intensifying. The way his hands slid to her hips to tug her closer, pulling her body against his before wrapping his arms around her in a fiery embrace. Cold sunlight never felt warmer as her blood pounds, heart racing like frightened halla. But even this roar could drown out his words.

His voice is almost sad as he says it. She wonders if she should be, too. But everything is bright and brilliant, and even as he walks away she can’t stop smiling.

He does not say it like he is saying, “I love you.” He is saying it like, “I give in.”

 

*****

 

“ _Ma sa’lath_.” He whispers it now in her darkened room, tender and worried, hovering inches away as she snaps opens her eyes with a gasp. His hands close the distance to gently caress the Inquisitor’s face, pull her back into _here_ from _there_ , before twining his fingers with hers. Already, she is grasping at them, still half-wrapped in some Fade-built terror of her own creation. She should ask him why he’s come, how he made it through both her locked door and her wards, but she can’t speak—gasps claw out of her throat like icy thorns instead, sobs choking any fumbling words she might have tried.

Lavellan knows, anyway. He felt it when the nightmares came for her, the ones she’s been determined not to speak of to anyone. How could he not sense them, now, when her own barriers are no longer enough to keep them contained? Her eyes and heart feel heavier each passing morning with the burdens of the previous night—a thousand times, her friends have died in her arms; a thousand times, she has failed, and the whole world fell with her. She can’t tell anyone about it. She must be their leader, their Herald, even though her heart and lips protest otherwise. She is Dalish; she is not special. But they need her to be. So the Inquisitor must endure: pretend to be invincible so they can, too. Grit her teeth against the wounds. Never admit to them the dreams.

But tonight, she doesn’t have to, because he came anyway. Solas slips beside her now, in this too-large and empty room, pulling her from the latest torment. She can’t stop shaking, clinging desperately to the fabric of his tunic as he wraps her in his arms. He holds her as though he knows he can keep her safe as long as she is within his embrace.

And in this, he is almost right.

“You don’t need to dream like this,” he tells her. “I can show you ways to keep yourself whole when you enter the Fade. Ways to stop your mind from wandering, and control everywhere you journey. The anchor has given you the focus required for such techniques, if you did not already possess it before.”

He doesn’t make her ask him. He just lies next to her, talking quietly, until her heartbeat finally slows. Breaths lengthen, her clasp on him slowly loosening, as the brambles clutching inside her chest finally slacken, and melt. Curled next to him, she can almost believe she will survive. She had learned he could be passionate. But this quiet company, this careful holding is different and unexpected. Solas feels more present now, both body and mind, instead of one overwhelming and dominating the other.

Finally, her muscles relax, the last of her panicked energy draining away. She feels lighter, but empty. A husk, as though any stray breeze might tear her to shreds. She forces her fingers to finally let go of his shirt, but before he can pull away, she rolls so that her head rests upon his shoulder, face nestling against his chest.

“Don’t leave,” she whispers, voice hoarse. She slides her arm over his chest, fingers tracing across his collarbone, coming to rest so that she can feel his heart beating just below her wrist. It is steady as a drum. “Please.”

He sighs, softly, but she doesn’t think he sounds displeased. “ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” he agrees softly, curling his own arm around her. His hand rests gently on her side, just below her ribcage, his fingers light and warm through the thin fabric of her shirt. “Would you like me to tell you more of the Fade?” He asks.

“Mmm.” Lavellan closes her eyes again, turning to press her face against his skin. He smells like pine needles and old parchment; like forests and libraries.

He resumes his quiet lecture, something about barriers and breathing, which she is sure he will have to repeat some other time. He is still speaking, softly, as she drifts off—this time to somewhere warm, and bright.

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” he whispers, before she is totally unconscious. _I am here. I am yours_.

And as her mind slowly slips through the veil, he is already there, waiting.

*****

“ _Vhenan_.” He speaks it now like a greeting, a surety. As certain as a sunrise or a hello.

This, more than the sudden fervent kisses, more than the impulsive way he’ll brush his hand across her skin, makes Lavellan’s heart sing. At those times, it is exhilarating. But like this, it is safe. It is like being welcomed home.

He is sitting at his desk, hunched over some tome, but a smile plays at his lips as he glances up to greet her.

“I’d like to hear more about what you’ve seen in your exploration of the Fade,” she asks, tucking her feet beneath her as she settles onto his small couch. He grins in slight approval, now, always eager to discuss his favorite subject.

“I would be happy to share it with you.”

Lavellan bites her lip, considering. “Tell me about some old ruins you explored.”

“Hmm.” Solas leans back, eyes dimming as he stares into his own memories, pulling one out. “I found the remnants of an ancient amphitheater, where once bloody battles were fought by fearsome warriors for nothing more than a show of skill. But centuries later, a pair of peasant farmers settled there to build a home. Between the crumbling pillars, they raised their livestock and their children. Now in the Fade, amidst memories of a brutal war that rages unceasingly, there is a hidden meadow of warm summer days.”

Lavellan closes her eyes, letting the words of his story wash over her. “What happened to the family?”

“Who can say? The children must have grown up, and moved on, and the couple either stayed or went with them. But they left a bright spot of happiness in a dark and bloodthirsty landscape. Perhaps the spirits who roam there hold that spark of light within themselves as well, now, too.”

“Would you take me?” She opens her eyes to study his face.

His eyebrows are raised, curious. “To the amphitheater?”

“Anywhere. I’d like to see what it’s like. If you want.” She hesitates, before going on. “Not all Dalish are opposed to learning more of our history. My history. There’s so much missing. If you want…” She trails off, unsure what exactly to even ask for.

He studies her carefully. “You keep surprising me. You would think I’d grow used to it.” He smiles. “Yes. I would like to.”

Warmth grows in her chest, a faint and flickering star. “We’ll talk later,” she tells him, and what she means is, “I will always come back.”

“ _Dareth shiral_.” _I will be waiting._

 

*****

 ****  
“ _Ar lath ma_.” He moans it now, kissing it into her neck like a promise, hands tangling in her hair. Beyond the half-walls of the crumbling tower they sit in, a thousand insects are humming and singing. The Emerald Graves anything but silent, even at midnight. Some night-bird’s whistling cry pierces through the hum, but it can’t drown out the fluttering sigh that slips from Lavellan’s throat. His teeth graze lightly across the base of her neck as he tugs aside her collared tunic. Her own hands find their way below the hem of Solas’ shirt, pushing it up so she can press her palms against his chest. He shudders as her cool hands slide across his skin, leaning into her as she wraps her fingers over the edge of his broad shoulders. The edge of his jawbone necklace digs into her ribs as his lips find their way back to hers, crushing together with an intensity that is as much need as it is desire.

Lavellan twists herself until she is sitting astride Solas’ half-reclined form, knees pressed into the damp grass on either side of his lap. He pulls back, half-lidded eyes opening as he stares at her, drinking in her face in the soft light of night. For the briefest instant, she is certain this time will be like all the others—he will pull back and carefully lock himself away again; slam up his polite walls. She is too forward, too uncontrolled. His thumb brushes across the side of her face, palm cupping her delicate chin. Lavellan does not look away, locking her gaze with his. In the starlight, his pale blue eyes are the color of steel.

This is the moment. When he will detach himself from his obvious passion, collect his recklessly abandoned composure once more. Her heart wavers in anticipated disappointment just as he tilts her face towards his, tenderly bringing his lips to meet hers.  

“ _Vir lath sa’vunin_ ,” he exhales, like a pledge to himself. But her mouth is softly parting under the sweetness of their kiss, tongue lightly flicking against his lower lip. Instead of pushing her back, his hands slide down her neck and sides to come to rest around her waist as she fumbles to pull away his tunic, his amulet tangled in the fabric. His fingers slip under her own garments, and she murmurs his name over and over against his mouth as they tug away the rest of their clothing, pulling away this last barrier between them.

“ _Ma vhenan_ ,” she breathes, fragments of a leftover language tumbling from her lips as she leans over him, her hair spilling across their skin like a curtain. Lavellan wants to be able to sing out poems of her longing, the ways her heart soars and smolders when he is near. But dead words fall flat, awkward and stumbling, like trying to rebuild Skyhold out of children’s wooden blocks. The language that feels right won’t come to her tongue, so she has to make do. She trails kisses along the edge of his throat, his collarbones, letting the press of her lips against his warm skin take the place of words.

Solas is gasping her name, fingers pressing into her skin. One hand slides to the small of her back and he pulls her, rolling so that she lies beneath him on the soft grass. He kisses her fervently, reverently; like she is the sun and he was made for burning. His lips move across her face, her neck, her breasts; murmuring words she can’t understand, even though she knows they should be her own. Lavellan digs her fingers into the dimples of his spine, hips rolling against his; back arching towards the open sky. She wants to pull him closer, but there is no closer—there is only this, there is only here, skin to skin.

In this moment, there is nothing else that matters.

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” she whispers into the dark, the words tasting like flowers on her tongue. And what she means is, “you are mine.”

 

*****

 

“Please, _Vhenan_.”

He is leaving, and she cannot stop him. The realization spreads through her slowly, like frost on glass.  This is more than pulling away, or holding back. His voice is filled with sorrows he refuses to share, and this time it sounds like, “I am sorry.”

It is not enough.

“Solas… don’t leave me, not now,” she begs him, even as she knows he will. There is no more teetering at the edge of passion, no warmth left in his gaze. He is doing it again, locking away the part of himself that feels behind some inner icy wall. A barrier she has no hope of breaking.

“I love you,” she cries, her voice catching against the words. They burn in her throat like deathroot; she cannot speak them in their shared tongue, for fear of losing them forever. She refuses to taint this language with the cold despair that is seeping into her voice now. _I love you. I need you. Don’t leave me. Don’t go._

He steps back, shaking his head, as though her pain is a physical force he cannot withstand.

“You have a rare and marvelous spirit. In another world…”

“Why not this one?”

His arms curl before him, as if in self-defense. As though he could claw back his own words from the air, or the pain from his chest.

She doesn’t know what went wrong. The blade in her heart twists, cuts echoing the markings she didn’t know were wicked. He ripped from her their meaning, and now he tears himself away, too. _Why?_ she wants to ask him, _why bring me here just to leave._

She wants to tell him they can work through this. She wants to cry. She wants to hit him, to force him to explain. She wants a thousand things and none of them matter anymore. Nothing matters. The language she should have inherited has abandoned her; nor would it ever have been enough. Her heart knows no phrase that will change his mind; no words to call him back.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Tears are already streaming down her face as he turns, hunched over with the weight of his misery, and walks away.

He is saying, _I am leaving_.

It is not enough.

 

*****

 

The fight is finally over, and all she can feel anymore is numb exhaustion.

 _So this is winning_ , Lavellan thinks. She lets her weapon clatter onto the fractured stones. She can’t stop staring at the spot where Corypheus vanished, this time for good. For the first moment since being named Inquisitor, she doesn’t know what to do. She turns to look for her companions, her advisors, suddenly lost without this driving goal to cling to.

But Solas kneels on the ground, before the fallen Orb. It lies in fragments, drained of whatever ancient magics were locked within the strange engravings. Gently, he lifts a piece, cradling it before his chest like a tiny, crushed bird.

“It was not supposed to happen this way.” He isn’t bothering with masks anymore. Shock and despair flow across his features, voice edged in unbridled misery. But when he turns to her, she cannot find a name for the emotion in his eyes. 

She thinks she says something in reply. She can't recall what. Only that the words tasted like dust on her tongue. But his voice is low, piercing through the fog in her mind.

”No matter what comes, I want you to know that what we had was real.”

Even though this is the language that doesn’t flicker and elude her grasp, for the first time she doesn’t understand what he is saying. She opens her mouth to respond, confused, but someone is calling to her. Lavellan realizes the dim roar in her ears is more than her still-pounding blood—it is cheering. For her, she realizes. For victory. She turns to Cassandra. This, at least, she can face. This, she knows how to deal with. Her own mask slides on and she is the Inquisitor again—smiling, reassuring the others; trying to convince herself that the void inside her chest is nothing, nothing that can’t be filled. When she turns to look at Solas again, he is gone.

This isn’t the freedom she imagined.

 

****

 

Lavellan didn’t understand the implication of his words until he doesn’t come back.

She wanted his promised explanation. His excuse for why he pushed her away, for whatever battles were raging inside his soul. She wanted him to say, “ _Ar lath ma_.” To once more call her his  _vhenan_.

It was not until it was far too late that she realized, what he meant was, “goodbye.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Ar lath ma = I love you  
> (Ma) vhenan = (my) heart  
> Ma sa'lath = my one/only love  
> Dareth shiral = safe journey (goodbye phrase)  
> Vir lath sa’vunin = we love one more day*
> 
> *This is a phrase from the Elvish eulogy, In Uthenera. Why is Solas reciting the poem for the dead during sexytimes??? he's just that grim and fatalistic. Why doesn’t Lavellan comment?? she’s maybe a bit distracted about finally gettin’ some at the time okay. she probably wonders wtf was up with that later.
> 
> Also, when he says it, does he mean "we are here so we may as well make the most of it because everything else I love has been destroyed by my own hand" or "for just one more day I will let myself love you and then I'll be able to hold back to protect us both"? The answer, dear reader, is whichever you find most tragic.
> 
> NOW ALSO ON TUMBLR IF YOU LIKE: http://maythedreadwolftakeyou.tumblr.com/post/110294261091/fragments


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